Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. Ann Veronica surveyed his sloping back for a moment, and then drew her microscope toward her. His lips parted in a rare smile. He parried without apparent effort. It can wait a bit longer. We have come to the conclusion, Brendon and I, that Mrs. But Spurlock was ever on guard, even when she fussed over his hair. If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection.
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